For so long it seemed this little dancer was waiting . . . waiting for the music to start. Waiting for the dance to begin. Just waiting. Little Fourteen Year Old Dancer. At Fourteen, there was only waiting. Dreaming and waiting. Eighteen, breathless waiting. Twenty, wishing and waiting. Twenties of waiting.
I know now, the music all around her she was always dancing.
It is that still place in every woman every fourteen year old dancer.
It is the wonder of it.
And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.